Last Hope
by SaltiQuill
Summary: 'One word. Months. Months he spent, looking for something, anything. One word had Agent Leopold Fitz shell-shocked, staring blankly at that ragged bit of parchment. "Death."' Angst-ridden one-shot, tag to the end of 3x01. Fitzsimmons, of course. Rated T for rather dark thoughts.


_A/N: I gotta say, I'm usually a humor writer. This is definitely the darkest thing I've ever written. But with that season premiere (DANG this show is back full force!), I had to get this off my chest. Plus, Fitz is my baby. I can't just leave him suicidally pounding on evil rocks of doom._

 _Tag to the end of 3x01, one-shot to battle writer's block on my Who fic, probably a bit AU, rated T for depression and dark thoughts._

xxxxx

 **Last Hope**

"Death."

One word. Months. _Months_ he spent, looking for something, _anything_. One word had Agent Leopold Fitz shell-shocked, staring blankly at that ragged bit of parchment.

That word had been his last hope.

 _Death._

And when Coulson mentioned traveling to Sheffield, that was the last straw.

Fitz _shattered._

He did not remember dropping the parchment; he did not remember Coulson's futile attempts at comfort. He did not remember wandering aimlessly around the lab, nor did he recall snatching the machine gun on his warpath to The Door.

All he knew was that suddenly he was in that bloody room, blasting the transparent containment unit open without a flinch. He dropped the gun carelessly; he stepped straight up to the Monolith.

His ice blue eyes were daggers as he stared at the rugged, black surface of that—that _thing._ He raised his chin and firmed his jaw.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And nothing happened.

Not. One. Bloody. Thing.

Fitz snapped.

"Do something," he muttered, frustration rising.

"Do something!" His gaze shot up and down the Monolith, daring it—no—begging it to strike. It remained solid; mocking his pain, leering at his desperation.

"DO SOMETHING!" he roared, whacking it with his fist. No retaliation. He hit harder, beating the solid, cursed stone like a punching bag.

Fitz didn't feel his knuckles bruise and his skin crack. He didn't hear his voice grow hoarse with each furious cry that ripped from his throat.

"DO SOMETHING!"

If Fitz had been told a mere two years ago that his life would become this desperate, this broken, he would have laughed. "You've got to be joking," he would have said. "Simmons is _way_ too bloody cheery to let that happen."

She had been wide-eyed and innocent, alive with hope and the excitement of discovery. Her kindness was unparalleled, her grin contagious. When she was in the room, you couldn't help but smile along.

Even after all the crap with HYDRA had gone down, Jemma still had a heart of gold. At times it could be hidden by her fear, her intense loyalty; but it was always there.

But now she was gone.

Dead, according to the parchment.

And after all the time, all the effort, all the stock Fitz had put into finding and proving that parchment as gospel; he had little room to convince himself otherwise.

Simmons was dead.

"DO SOMETHING!" His voice cracked, tears pouring down his face.

He bashed at the rock with his hands, with his feet, with his forehead.

" _Do something_ …" His knees buckled. Fitz collapsed against the deadly artifact, sliding to the ground.

The stone did not so much as twitch.

He did not see Mack dart in with half a dozen agents in protective gear—as if it would actually serve as protection. He did not notice them stop in absolute horror at the scene: shattered glass and shattered Fitz, whose bleeding head rested wearily against the Monolith.

He did not resist as they none-too-calmly yanked him away from the stone and out of the room, frantically slamming the door shut behind them. He was like a zombie as Mack pushed him in the general direction of Coulson's office.

"What the heck were you thinking?!" Mack finally bellowed, causing any miscellaneous agents in the hallway to scatter.

 _It didn't do something,_ Fitz thought. He didn't have the voice to say it out loud.

"You could've been killed!"

 _Maybe that was the point._

Mack ranted. The white noise pulsing in Fitz's head blocked it all out.

"…I get it that you're upset, but seriously—"

 _Simmons is gone._

"...this alien stuff isn't a game, Fitz!"

 _Jemma is dead._

"…between the Inhumans, the Chitauri, the Asgardians, the Kree—"

The white noise vanished in an instant, as one word snapped him out of his trance.

One word.

One word hit him with the force of a freight train.

One word caused Fitz to stop dead, jaw dropping. Mack, not expecting the sudden halt, stumbled into him with a grunt. Fitz didn't even notice.

"Fitz?"

A flicker of something, deep within him. Just a flicker, but it was there. The shattered fragments began to piece themselves back together.

One word.

 _This_ was his last chance.

"What is it, Turbo?"

Agent Leopold Fitz raised his eyes, a spark of hope rekindling within his orbs.

And clearing his throat, he repeated the one word that would save Simmons.

"Asgardians."

xxxxx

 _Never written for this fandom before, so please review!_


End file.
